Fiddauthor week
by Laura Latts
Summary: It's a day late and a dollar short but here's some Fidauthor trash prompted by Fiddauthor Week on tumblr. FiddlefordxStanford Rated T for shipping trash.


Laura: For fiddauthor week on tumblr. A mix of all the prompts into a quick one-shot.

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Stanford took a deep sigh and scooted his chair back from the book in front of him. He rubbs his eyes underneath his glasses.

"Alright, now let's see if I understand this correctly.", he said.

He turned around in his chair to face his room mate, Fiddleford, who stood there guilty as ever with his hands behind his back. The coffee-printed apron betraying what he was really up to.

"The book said, an hour at 350.", Ford looked him square in the eye, the next few words inevitable. "...Did you really think you could make it go by faster by turning up the temperature?"

Fids sighed some and tapped his foot.

"Well.. The math seemed plausible.", he said weakly in his defense, unable to make eye-contact with Stanford. "I mean, I suppose that in hindsight it would seem a bit..contrived, I believe is the word?"

"You're trying to bake a loaf of beer bread by using equipment you got out of the lab.", Ford nodded to the burnt loaf behind Fids."

"You said baking was like science!"

"No, I said the only way I understood how my mom baked was to think of it like science. That doesn't mean you use 12 ounces of rubbing alcohol in place of beer and heat it at 2000 degrees!", Ford rolled his eyes.

He shok his head and smiled at his friend. It was a sorry sight that Ford somehow couldn't help but wanna laugh about it. For a fellow genius, Fiddleford McGucket had a mathematical solution to almost anything. Anything, but cooking. Ford would admit, he wasn't much of a cook either, but it was kinda funny and sad how poorly Fiddleford did in the area.

He let a chuckle escape and it seemed to ease up Fid's embarrassment as he too smiled back.

"Come on, I'll help you clean this up.", Ford offered. "We'll use the bathroom sink for hot water and soap."

"Yeah um.. About that...", Fiddleford shifted uneasily.

He pulled his hands out from behind his back and showed the palms. Stanford gaped at the bright red burns on his palms.

"WHAT?!", Ford gasped.

"I could hear you right down the hall. It burned right through the towels.", Fiddleford shrugged, looking at the floor. "I was going to hide it and surprise you, but it didn't cool off entirely yet."

"Fiddleford! Did you even run it under- No, I walked in before you had a chance." Ford quickly snatched one of Fiddleford's hands and looked over them.

Fiddleford gasped, not just from the constant stinging in his palm, but also how quickly Ford became concerned and the sudden shiver that ran up his spine.

"Okay, we'll clean this mess up later. It's not too bad, but we need to run it under cold water, now.", Ford surmised in less than a minute.

Still holding him by the hand Ford quickly lead him over to the sink in their bathroom and began running the cold water.

"You need to take better care.", Ford scolded gently.

"...I...had no idea you cared so much.", Fids mumbled.

Ford shrugged. Fiddleford rinsed his hands thoroughly and was soon bandaged up.

"Why were you trying to bake anyway?", Ford asked as they walked back into the small room.

Fids shrugged.

"Thought it would be a nice surprise. A change from take-out.", he said quietly, scratching the back of his neck.

Ford puzzled over it. It was out of nature and he could tell his friend was purposefully dodging an answer. He rolled his eyes and shrugged, walking briskly over to his desk.

"Well when you decide to tell me let me-", the answer suddenly struck him and he felt like something pulled back on him as he stopped in his steps.

A gasp, and then a groan, as Ford brought a hand to his face.

"Ohh! It's-! Oh, Fiddleford, I am so sorry. I completely forgot.", Stanford said, turning around to meet Fid's gaze.

It had been about 2 years since they began dating. It was always kept so quiet though, Ford often forgot until they were up late into the nights or Fiddleford reminded him as he did now. The sweet treat of his childhood, baked especially for him and hurried, but ultimately ruined. Stanford sighed as he looked at the disappointment on Fiddleford's face.

Fids gave a shrug, trying to once again, ignore his feelings of regret or disappointement, and tried to wave it off.

"It's fine, really.", he said weakly. "I mean, I guess we can do something later but I almost forgot myself. Which is why I was scramblin' to-"

"Fiddleford."

The south-accented engineer looked back and their eyes locked. Fiddleford wasn't ever sure if he believed in ESP and telepathy or any of that oddity Ford was ever mentioning, but the six-fingered boyfriend did seem to have an uncanny knack for being able to push his own thoughts into Fiddleford's mind just by simple eye contact, though, it was plausible it was years of practice with his twin.

And all Fiddleford can convey was a real look of hurt and worry. He genuinely felt bad for having forgotten the date, that his work had once again engrossed him. He didn't have to say "I'm sorry" the look was already there.

Fiddleford warmed up, and gave him a gentle, forgiving smile.

Ford crossed the room again and placed a small kiss on his cheek, hugging him some.

"We could still enjoy what's left of the day.", he offered.

Fiddleford's face inevitably turned a few shades more pink as he smiled back at Ford. The pink turned red as he wrapped his arms around Stanford and the two were drawn closer by the arm length.

"That...would be nice.", Fids replied softly, which earned another sweet kiss on his cheek.

Another sweet kiss on the cheek soon turned into a heated kiss on the neck, which lead to returned kisses, and more kisses, on cheek, or lips, or neck.

A couple of content sighs exchanged as hands traced aspects of the body and six fingers roamed through untamed light brown hair.

Shivers and sparks ran wildly as their hearts picked up pace. And when clothes were removed as the two took time, sitting on their bed, to catch breath, even more kisses were shared in places not needed to be mentioned.

It was hard to bite back moans as more lips made contact to each other. The last thing Fiddleford remembered of that wonderful night was feeling Stanford's heavy breathing and how soft the bed sheets felt, while he listened to a steady, fast-paced heartbeat that matched his own.

The next morning, as the two laid there, snuggled up as closely as could be, the sunlight streaming in stirred a groggy Stanford. He moaned some and cracked his eyes open. THe unwillingly turned his head away from his soft light brown hairy pillow and saw the wall clock.

It was blurry without his glasses and Ford couldn't even see the numbers. But he could faintly make out the hour and minute hand on the wall. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. A swift kiss and Fids murmured softly and stirred also from his sleeping, clutching Ford a bit tighter.

"It's late.", Ford said quietly.

"So what? One class won'..", Fids yawned. "Do none harm.. We'd ace any damn test from hell anyhoozits."

Ford smiled a little and kisses him on the neck, earning a sleepy giggle from the other.

"Yes, but we already skipped three.", he said slowly.

Fiddleford sighed and rubbed his eyes open. Very slowly, they climbed out of bed and fumbled about to get dressed. Sometime during it, Ford paused. Something felt off.

Fiddleford stopped getting dressed to when he started to hear Ford laugh.

"Hm? What?", he asked, turning around.

"Ah, I believe this belongs to you?", he said, gesturing to the green colored silky flowery shirt he had on by mistake.

Fiddleford laughed a little but then noticed and looked down and they laughed a little more as that Fiddleford had put on Stanford's typical red sweater.

"Let's hurry and switch back.", Ford said, already taking off the shirt. "Silk feels too unusual for me."

"Aw, but your sweater's so cozy!", Fids hugged it a little more. "What is this? Hand-knitted?"

"NO.", Ford said, throwing the green shirt in Fiddleford's face. "I...happen to know a good place to buy it from."

Fiddleford smirked at him, picking up the blatant lie in his voice and snickered a little.

"Ya ain't as good at liein' as your mother.", he mentioned.

"Just gimme my shirt.", Ford grumbled. "It's the last clean one and it's cold in here."

"Yeah, yeah.", Fiddleford took it off, tossed it over, and got dressed. "Ain't no shame in doin' a craft."

Ford simply rolled his eyes, though still smiling. They got dressed and headed out, none the wiser of them as they walked the halls and went about their outwardly normal lives.


End file.
